


Pulling A Sickie

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (mild fade to black), (not really hurt just food poisoning lmao), First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Sick Fic, and gross humour, and subsequent sick day, mag fluff 2: Expenses, nothing worse than the episode, off screen vomiting, the boys are gross but they are also jus so cute, the kebab date, tim calls in sick so they can hang out and recover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: ‘Ew, Tim, don’t!’ Martin half laughs, half whines, turning his pink face into Tim’s pillow to escape. Tim chases him with giggles and smacking, dramatic pecks over his creased cheek, the bit of his ear he can’t shield with his shoulder. ‘That’s gross!’Martin gets food poisoning from a dodgy kebab, which kind of ruins the stakeout turned date. But it's all okay because he can stay over at Tim's and they can call in sick together 😌
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 110





	Pulling A Sickie

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so that fluff ep gave me serious brainworms and i couldnt let go until we had this. ta imogen for the now canonical kebab stakeout date....... the potential of it all....

‘Ew, Tim, don’t!’ Martin half laughs, half whines, turning his pink face into Tim’s pillow to escape. Tim chases him with giggles and smacking, dramatic pecks over his creased cheek, the bit of his ear he can’t shield with his shoulder. ‘That’s gross!’

‘What?’ Tim asks innocently, nosing down and planting a big one in the ticklish furrow of his scrunched up neck. 

‘Don’t kiss me,’ Martin tells the pillow with very little firmness. Tim gives over and flops in behind him, settling for snaking his arms round like a baby marsupial. Martin pouts at him over his shoulder. ‘I’m sick.’ 

‘So am I, remember?’ Tim reminds him with a wink. ‘Come on that was hours ago, I’m sure you’re not gonna chuck up on me again.’ 

There’s been a nap, tinned soup and  _ Bridget Jones _ since then. Martin is like a radiator when he’s ill apparently, and though Tim had plied him with paracetamol and sympathy, he’d secretly loved curling up in bed with that particular side effect. 

The bedroom is that warm kind of stale from the same hot, un-showered bodies being in it all day. It smells of sweat and toast crumbs caught in the baggy sheets. They’d lit a candle halfheartedly, which hasn’t covered anything, just added cinnamon to it. 

It’s nice though. Or Tim thinks it is at least. He’s feeling pretty dicey himself, though has managed to keep most of it down. ‘ _ Lucky constitution I guess, _ ’ he’d just shrugged, and Martin had seethed at him, evil eye somewhat weakened by Tim rubbing circles on his back as he hunched over the bowl. But that was this morning. Now they’re over the worst of it and Tim’s had the decency to spray the bathroom viciously with Dettol, it’s nice. It doesn’t matter to him that they’re both a bit gross. 

Martin rolls over and gives him the fond exasperated look he’s fast getting used to. ‘Fine,’ he concedes, smiling. 

His fingers tuck into Tim’s shirt at the stretched neckline and pull him over the last inches of distance. He lands a delightfully soft peck with a hum. Then another, long, closed mouth kiss with a gentle hint of pressure that has Tim inhaling deeply and pushing back with the energy he didn’t get to get to last night. He slips his tongue in and Martin laughs over it, pushing him off again. 

‘Let me brush my teeth at least if you’re gonna do that,’ he says, palm on Tim’s chest. But he’s grinning and his cheeks and ears are getting a little splotchy-pink, like they’re sputtered with burst raspberries. 

He rolls away, pads over to the bathroom in Tim’s pyjamas. Tim watches him happily from the bed as he rubs toothpaste round his mouth with one finger. It's not for the first time today but it's the first time he's doing it not wholly selfishly. The first time Tim's going to get to do more than smell it on his sleep-stodgy breath. 

‘What?’ Martin asks him as he gurgles. He’s very thorough and Tim hopes he still tastes like  _ him  _ underneath all the mint. 

Tim says nothing, just grins. 

Then he says: ‘nothing,’ and twists his fingers into the old cotton as soon as Martin ambles coyly back to within grabbing distance. Martin stands between his legs, weight in one hip, and, after a second, strokes a hand through his still greasy hair. 

‘Gross innit,’ Tim chuckles, then, just a little smaller he checks ‘you’re still gonna kiss me, yeah?’ 

Martin snorts. ‘Yeah I am,’ he smiles, drops one gently on Tim’s forehead. 

Tim hums, winds his arms round the surprisingly strong and comfortingly soft back he’s coming to greatly appreciate. It’s still pretty hot though Martin’s not asked him to turn the heating off again. He waits for Martin to come down to him, forehead still leaning against chapped, mint-tight lips. 

He’s learning the rewards of those lips require a bit more patience than he’s used to. But it’s all very much part of the fun. Martin is stubborn and actually quite capable of keeping up with Tim’s banter once he's out of the office, but he still has the blood flow of a flamingo. If that’s how flamingos work, Tim doesn’t know. But he does know Martin had gone a particularly beautiful shade of pink last night, under the streetlights. It had taken Tim telling him so before he’d believed the continuous, obvious, begging for it looks. Before he’d shuffled closer into Tim's anorak for a very soft and garlicky first kiss. 

This was before he’d started throwing up, obviously. Which had rather put the breaks on the proceedings. Tim’s been happy to take it even slower since then; fair enough it killed the vibe a bit. 

So he’s pretty surprised, and honestly  _ thrilled _ when Martin nudges his chin up. The kiss is still as slow, but fuller this time, and Tim sinks happily into the relief of finally getting to kiss into him. He tastes like toothpaste but his mouth is warm. 

There’s something just more than tiredness as he comes up and says ‘back to bed though.’ 

It makes Tim dive under the covers without protesting. 

Once snuggled in and thoroughly tangled, tousled with a few more kisses, Martin gets that shy, heavy-lidded look again. He thumbs idly over Tim’s eyebrow like he doesn’t know how special it feels. 

‘Thanks for all of this,’ he says slowly. 

‘It’s alright,’ Tim promises. ‘No problem.’ 

(Which isn’t strictly true, but he thinks the compensation has been more than adequate. Not just the kissing but the good sleep and the conversation - work and home and _Bridget Jones_ trivia.) 

‘Really,’ Martin presses. ‘For the pyjamas and-’ he looks around, shucks the duvet higher over his shoulder pointedly. His hand is curled into the thin fabric of the cover where it’s coming loose at the corner. 

‘For holding your hair back?’ Tim teases, because God if he isn’t just cute. 

‘Piss off,’ Martin laughs, shaking his head. He shakes it back to serious. ‘For lying for me.’ 

(‘Yeah, so sorry,’ Tim had coughed feebly down the phone line that morning, as Martin tried not to laugh though his feeble moping. ‘I’m not gonna make it in today, really awful. Haven’t been off the bathroom floor.’ He’d been sitting on the mat as he spoke, the hand that’s not on the phone on Martin’s knee. ‘Yeah, sorry Rosie. Seriously, we’re talking both ends-’ Martin had choked on the water Tim had given him. His own half-lie, later, over email - ever the poet - had been much more convincing.)

‘Not that you needed my help with that,’ Tim smiles. 

He'd been pretty impressed, and reminds himself to show Martin the expenses forms later - to give him all Rosie’s tricks on bumping them up a bit. He’d probably appreciate that. Little bit of chivalry never hurt anyone's chances. Speaking of: 

‘And I notice you’re not thanking me for the kebab then?’ 

Martin’s face screws up as he laughs through the memory of it. ‘No I'm bloody not. Come here.’ 

He holds Tim firmer round the back of the neck this time, cups him close in the kiss. 

‘Thanks though,’ he says, ‘really.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tim kisses back. Then, seriously, coming up for air and taking a long look at those big genuine eyes: ‘yeah, okay.’ Then, after a long one he’s pretty proud of that has Martin’s hands teasing under the hem of his t-shirt, ‘think I’ve got an idea of something else you can thank me for.’

‘Oh?’ Martin asks, and for a second Tim thinks he’s going to have to patiently explain again that he does actually want things unironically sometimes. But then Martin is twirling the drawstrings of his trackies round one finger, the other hand stroking up the muscles in Tim’s flank. 

‘Or,’ he says slowly, ‘I could thank  _ you _ properly. For the hospitality.’ 

Tim sucks a breath in. The humble little bit of boldness is rather unexpected but doesn’t go unappreciated. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Sure,’ Tim sighs, struck a bit silly with the thrill that goes through him with Martin’s hands and contended, keen smile. 

He hums into a low, blissful moan as warm kisses, less mint and more human now, trace down his neck. This is, in the best way, not at all how he expected the afternoon to end. When Martin's thumbs tuck into his waistband and start to ease it over his hips, he feels he probably ought to get something in before he starts panting up into them. 

‘Long as you’re not gonna throw up again,’ he jokes. 

Martin shakes his head, eyes screwed with a wheezing laugh. ‘Gross,’ he tells Tim like he’s impossible, kissing him before he can say anything else. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed ! pwease tell me if u did :))))) 
> 
> u can find me on tumblr screaming about martim n the jtmcu in general @babyyodablackwood x


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